


the clouds protect me

by mlo



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friends to Lovers, Gaming, Happy Ending, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, One Shot, eddie and richie are internet friends, lower case, richie isn't much of a trashmouth, they're 18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 04:37:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20754458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlo/pseuds/mlo
Summary: eddie kaspbrak depends on the clouds to protect him from burning his house down. he's okay. he's okay. he's not okay.





	the clouds protect me

"it's anyone's game now!" richie protests, concentration tracing every inch of his face. it's his competitiveness. eddie can picture it in his head.

"you're probably gonna win, i fuckin' hate this game," eddie replies, but he's joking. he _despises_ the game.

"stop bitching eds," richie says back, but it's a late reply since he's focused entirely on this round of call of duty. its a gun-game round, which eddie is even worse at. 

"speaking of bitching, my mom's coming downstairs. i gotta go in a bit." eddie sighs, starting to get off the couch. he doesn't wanna show the fact that he's scared of her presence, so he keeps his cool. she's already having a bad day, which worries him more. richie knows not to nag or ask him to stay.

"alright, skype?" riche says, the concentration seeping away, because he knows – more like, found out – about eddie and his mom. it's not a good relationship. it's odd, to say the least. richie doesn't know any details, and feels it's too intrusive to ask. 

"yeah, 12am. on the dot. bye." he mumbles rapidly as he shuffles around the living room, cleaning up around him and turning off his ps4. eddie begins to panic, but there's no reason to. he's just used to feeling like his mom's going to attack him verbally, but he never listens anyway. whenever she speaks, eddie just hears a constant buzzing sound. he has mastered the art of tuning her out. it's pure talent. however, it's a gift and a curse. his mom realizes when he does it. his mind travels somewhere different. 

that's just because eddie _is_ a bit different. he has always been. he depends on the clouds to protect his innocent little soul and likes to see his fingers bleed if he gets a paper cut, even though the sight of blood twists his stomach. he likes to light things on fire to study the way they char, or melt. he locks himself in closets and reads comics he's not interested in but it makes the time pass and it's alright. he likes the sound of police sirens because it reminds him the world can be more unsafe than the presence of his mother. but he's just fine. he's fine, he's fine, he's fine.

"eddie, you down here?" he can hear her yell. tracing back the sound, and the way it echoed around the barely furnished house, she's in the kitchen. perfect. he can make it to the basement, where there's nothing but boxes piled on top of boxes. he likes to go through the items and throw away his mothers things. little things, like things she wouldn't notice went missing.

he carefully walks to the stairs that lead to the basement. only a couple of steps. the seventh step, which is the second to last, creaks, if he steps on it harshly on the left side. he reminds himself not to step on it. or to step on it, so his mother catches him and yells at him, and he gets to call her out. but he doesn't; he's too tired. he's fine.

he makes it there, without alerting his mother or leaving a trace, falls asleep twenty minutes later on the uncomfortable wooden floor, but he doesn't mind. he does. his mother sees him and his eyes open slightly and he pictures her carrying him to his bed and kissing the top of his forehead but she wakes him until he's fully alert and makes him take out the trash. it's fine, he's fine. he's fine.

—

eddie met richie through tumblr. richie runs a gaming blog, with the occasional (frequent) shitposting. eddie reblogs photography, mostly, and keeps his blog neat, almost soft and pure, resembling his features. it's far from what goes on in that little head of his. they've known each other for ten months, and continue to call, skype, and play video games together, and it's the only time where eddie feels actual joy. not fully, but it's enough. it's enough.

"did your mom do anything last night? you seemed... off." richie asks, after them discussing stranger things season four theories for about an hour. it was 1am now. eddie can hear his heartbeat in his right ear.

"like i'm not always off," eddie says as a joke, but it's truer than you think. eddie is self aware.

"i'm serious."

"_you're_ serious?" eddie tries his luck again in lightening up the mood. richie wouldn't know what serious was if it stared him right in the face. but, when the time calls for it, he can be a good listener. maybe he just likes listening to eddie.

"nothing went down. it was fine. an old man, my neighbor, was chopping down an old tree on his lawn. i liked that tree, birds always hung out around it. anyways, he was makin' lots of noise, 'n' my mom marched out, yelling at him. like a fucking madwoman, alerting the entire fucking neighborhood and shit. her voice cracked all through out, the same way when she's yelling at me, and maybe that's why my voice is always cracking? like it's... genetic? is it?" eddie rambles. he's changing the subject. he always does.

"you think i don't know when you're changing the subject? i invented that, eddie." richie protests, but not in an offensive tone. it's sincere. richie is concerned. his voice was soft when he wanted it to be, like rain against a car window when you're on your way back from your little brothers soccer game. but eddie had no brother, or sister. it's always been just him and his mom.

"i'll look it up," eddie says. he doesn't really care. 

"eds, you alright there bud?" richie asks, after eddie had stayed silent for too long. eddie had skype on half of his laptop screen, and the other half was a yahoo answers page.

"hm? oh, yeah, and don't call me eds dickwad," eddie mutters. he's distracted. he always is.

periods of silence were uncommon whenever these two were together, but every now and again, richie is reminded of how eddie's mind runs its own show, going from one thought to the next. he's always living in his own mind, daydreaming, about god knows what. richie still hasn't been able to figure out whether eddie's current daydreaming session is of inquisitive nature or purely dark. so he doesn't ask. he waits for eddie to realize that he's been daydreaming for a half hour. 

"do you ever feel...mentally paralyzed? trapped?" eddie asks. richie was slowly dozing off, but is quick to recharge at the sound of eddie's voice. eddie isn't thinking. he's mumbling the first words that come to mind. odd kid.

"what? i don't know. i don't think about stuff like that, eds." 

"sometimes, i know that my body is moving, i move my fingers around, shake my legs. run, even. but my mind...it feel's...like an animal caught in a trap. except it doesn't hurt, it _feels_ like nothing, richie. how are we able to _feel_ nothing? that makes absolutely no sense."

richie doesn't say anything. he doesn't know what to say, so he stays silent. eddie doesn't notice. or he does, and it disappoints him, but he makes it seem like he's distracted. he's not, he wants to hear richie's thoughts.

after about 10 minutes of richie staring at the tv screen across from him, playing the witcher, eddie speaks up. 

"guess it isn't," he mumbles. 

"hmm?" 

"voice cracking, i guess it isn't genetic."

—

eddie's mind is playing a game with him. he doesn't like this game, but he plays along. his mind's giving him a boost of confidence he rarely feels. although eddie speaks constantly, about everything and nothing, he doesn't give his opinion much. he's scared of confrontation, and would rather stick to objective judgment rather than say what he really thinks. he thinks it's because of the lack of a father-figure in his life. or mother-figure.

but confidence strikes him in the chest and he talks back to his mom. she hates it, and it shows. she's gotten back from working two shifts and she's exhausted, but so is eddie. he's always tired. so she's no exception.

"eddie, if you know what's best for you, go to your room. it's no time for this." she spits out. eddie imagines locking all exits of this house and setting it on fire, but he'd lose most of his things if it's done wrong.

"are you threatening your own son?" he jokes, and he already knows he's way past crossing the line.

"that's enough, you little shit!" she yells, and he doesn't mind.

"i could say the same thing to you mom, i could say the same thing." he says, and she yells back and he zones out like he always does, tuning the harshness of her voice and rushing upstairs, and begins his daily skype call with richie. richie's going on about about how he's close to flunking out of the institute he's been in for ten weeks. 

"richie, have you ever felt violent?" eddie speaks out of nowhere, typical eddie. they were watching netflix before richie's ranting session, but eddie had netflix minimized and the skype page taking over most of the screen. he focused on richie's features and how he reacted to eddie's question. he looked confused. 

"what?" 

"violence, have you felt it? extreme, head-smashin, skull crackin violence," eddie mumbles. richie notices the way he mumbles. eddie's question is genuine. 

"uh, nah, not really. my parents always thought these video games would turn me mad but, hasn't happened yet."

"what about violence towards your parents?" eddie asks immediately afterwards. it's what he wanted to ask in the first place. 

"no, fuck that, why? i mean, my parents are absolute assholes, but i wouldn't...why're you asking?"

"i... don't know," but he does know, and he's too afraid to say it, which is unusual. he doesn't want richie to think of him weirdly. eddie isn't weird. he isn't. he's fine. he's normal.

"let's just keep watching, yeah? or you seem tired, are you tired?" richie asks. he's too caring, and eddie is not used to it. he's still grateful. 

"no." he simply answers, and plays another episode of rick and morty. 

—

"i wanna meet you, richie," eddie says, out of the blue. they were talking to each other on the phone and it's been three hours now. eddie's laptop screen was playing an episode of the office, but it was muted. it was 2:22am. time sequences always gave eddie chills. 

"i can say the same thing eds," 

"then say it."

"i wanna meet you."

"good." eddie responds. he turns up the volume on his phone, richie's voice wasn't loud enough. he then realizes richie's voice is just at the right volume, but the sound coming from outside his room is bothering him. he doesn't like it, it's too loud. he can't concentrate on richie's voice like this.

it's his mom, she's coming up the stairs, and she'll probably not come into eddie's room. but she does, and eddie wasn't mentally prepared for it. he's freaking out. his body language shows it, but it's too dark. the only source of light in his room was his laptop screen.

eddie hangs up out of nowhere, and he feels bad, but he throws that feeling out the window.

'eddie, you're gonna get that phone and laptop taken away if this behavior doesn't stop.' 'eddie, you need to get out the house more. why aren't you normal?' 'eddie, everybody's always asking about you. it's embarrassing. you should've grown out of this by now.'

his phone and laptop get taken away. he's anxious, and he chews his bottom and top lip so ridiculously, they bleed. they don't stop, for about five minutes.

he can't stand not having his phone around, because he never knows what the time is. everything revolves around time. he feels an itch that he just can't get to and it's driving him crazy and what the fuck is the time?

he wants to hear richie. he's scared. how's he going to explain this to him? he's eighteen, lives with his mom because he can't depend on himself, and doing nothing to help him get out of this fucking house. he's ashamed. richie can't know, but he will. eddie never talks about these things with him, but richie somehow ends up finding out. 

'get out the house more, eddie.' fine. he does. not through his front door, or back door either, of course. this is eddie we're talking about. he crawls out the window. in his childhood home, he had a window the size of his body. right below it, was a railing. broken, but still good enough to get him down safely. it was an effortless escape from the house of horrors. 

but now, in their new house, it's smaller, and eddie's body grew larger. but he still made it work, falling quite badly and scraping both his knees, but managing to keep it silent. his knees were bleeding, but he didn't care. he never did. he always did. 

the clouds were barely there. peeking through a starless sky, so black it made eddie feel like the smallest boy on earth. he was lost in space. lost in thought. he steps into a puddle, forgetting he was wearing socks. he doesn't care, but he does. he disappears through the night, soundless. a boy lost in his dreams, lost in the idea of a stupid boy (so stupid it's actually cute) through a screen and lost in an array of genuine anger yet fear targeted towards his mom. he's lost. he doesn't care, but he does. he's fine. he's fine. he's not fine.

a home, abandoned and broken but still a home, one he always drove by whenever he left the house, which was rare, was located a few blocks from where he lives. eddie always wondered about that house. constant wonder. it's abandoned, intriguing, scary. what eddie likes. he walks to it. he doesn't realize it's far.

but the curiosity he had for this house reminded him of childhood. not his childhood, where he was mainly scared rather than curious. but the _idea_ of childhood, in general. the endless questions children always asked but eddie never blurted out, but now he's blurting them out, to richie, mainly. mostly. only.

richie. what's he thinking right now? he's not too far away, but this abandoned house isn't either and it's making eddie's legs ache. his knees have stopped bleeding, but now ache tremendously. eddie enjoyed richie's company, even if it wasn't physical company. richie was possibly the only being that didn't mind eddie's bizarre and unusual thoughts, the ones that should probably remain unsaid. richie never was one to mind. he loved it, actually. encouraged it. waited for their on the dot 12am skype call to hear of all the things cooking up in eddie's mind. eddie always wondered what richie's genuine feelings were towards him, if they were ever sexual, or just platonic. richie's banter came off as flirtatious at times. maybe eddie's just a cocky self-centered prick who thinks just because richie doesn't tell eddie to shut the fuck up, he's suddenly in love with him. maybe it's both, friendly and sexual. maybe it's neither.

however, eddie himself wasn't quite sure of what his own feelings were towards richie, but he did like him, and he wasn't going to ruin it. maybe he's just infatuated, as he's never truly felt love before. he tries not to think of it much. he does. 

after what seems like a thousand years later, eddie was standing in front of the house. to eddie, it was welcoming. if it was painted and christmas lights were hung all around and there were shrubs around the fences, but all those things weren't there. still felt more welcoming than his house, so he enters. 

he falls asleep, on the floor in one of the rooms upstairs, laying under a cloudy sky he imagines in his head. 

—

he was initially going to get back his belongings in a week. he thought his mom was crazy for doing that. she couldn't do that. he wouldn't allow it.

so, he steals them, whilst his mom was out the door. he wanted to lock it and never allow her back in but she'd find a way in, she always did. she always did.

after taking his things, the only thing he cared to do was instantly call richie. it hasn't even been a full 24 hours but he wanted richie to know he was okay. he wasn't. he will be. richie picks up instantly.

"richie," eddie says. he doesn't mumble.

"eddie, hey, you alright? what happened last night?" he sounds concerned, but he always is when it comes to eddie. eddie doesn't know why.

"mom was being a bitch, took my stuff way. found a cool place though, kept thinkin' bout' us meeting 'n' going there," eddie explains. he avoids the subject of his mother.

"what was the place?" richie picks up the signals. he makes a note in his mind to not bring up eddie's mother any time soon.

"this abandoned house three blocks away from mine, ended up fallin' asleep there for a few hours,"

he then fell asleep listening to richie's voice.

—

eddie had a very interesting childhood, to say the least. his father died when he was five, and it's just been him and his mom ever since. she might've been caring and attentive to his needs at the beginning, but eddie doesn't remember much of it. he just knows that she _was_ different, at some point. that she wasn't always this cruel, self serving witch. becoming a widow hit sonia kaspbrak hard though, and the grief stayed. well, if you can call that grief. she eventually became absent, and that later turned into viciousness. pure hatred towards her poor kid. she excuses it by saying eddie's been a difficult child to raise, but how can she even say that she raised him? eddie always scoffs at that. 

eddie was now curled up in bed, a can of coke in one hand, scrolling through the youtube comments on some true crime video. he was also skyping richie, but no one was speaking. it was one of those nights where they needed each other's company but no one felt the need to speak. but eddie did, after a bit.

"let's run away together one day,"

"hm?" 

"let's run away together, one day." eddie repeats.

"if we did, where would we go?" 

"as far away from here as humanly possible," eddie says, and it's genuine. he really does want to get the fuck out of here. he hates it. more than call of duty.

"why though? you mean to tell me i'm _that_ fun to be around?" richie keeps the conversation light. he doesn't want to press into the conversation of eddie's personal life or scare him off, but it's been ten goddamn months. he just wants to know. he wants to know how to help him. 

"it's too loud, and sometimes too quiet, and there's little to no clouds here, most of the time. too much sun, rich, that's no good."

"what's up with you and clouds?" richie asks. it doesn't sound harsh. 

"they protect me." he replies, like it's obvious. _jeez richie, how could you be so dumb? _eddie thinks. he doesn't actually think richie is stupid. he's probably one of the smartest people he's come across.

"i can do the same," richie thinks he says it in his head, but he says it out loud. eddie was amused.

"what? protect me?" 

"i didn't mean to say that, but sure! these long limbs gotta be useful for something." richie tries to play it off cool, and eddie could tell he was starting to get nervous. richie was never nervous, to eddie's knowledge.

"i'm glad you said it." eddie smiles.

—

the night after that, eddie got smacked in the face by his mom. it was sudden, too quick for eddie to react in a way where he would've been able to defend himself. even if he could, he wouldn't. he would. he's scared. the last time she hit him was when he was fourteen, it was a light smack on the arm, and it didn't even bruise. this didn't either, but his face was red.

they were arguing, and the confidence overcame eddie again. he regrets it. he doesn't. he felt like grabbing a butchering knife and ending his mom's life, but he doesn't. of course he doesn't.

he doesn't tell richie, and refuses to skype him. richie says he doesn't mind. he does. he needs eddie just as much as eddie needs richie. 

he calls richie, though. but he doesn't sound the same. richie is too observant. he realizes that somethings off. eddie hangs up again. he regrets it. he does.

—

the night after that, eddie accidentally sliced his finger and bled all over the kitchen counter and forgot to clean it up. it wasn't his fault though, he was grabbing bandaids from his room. he was going to clean it up, something he protested to this mother all night. the argument ended badly. he tells richie.

the night after that, he gets smacked again. he didn't load the dishwasher. he doesn't tell richie. he doesn't call him either. he falls asleep to the sound of his old neighbor chopping down another tree. _poor birds_, he thinks. 

the night after that, he got pulled by his collar. he got smacked in the face. he doesn't remember why, he was zoning out. that was probably why. he tells richie. he breaks down.

"richie, i-please, hear me out, i-i need y-you, i think, p-please," he says in between sobs. he doesn't cry much. he's been bottling it up. it's never good to do that.

"eds, what's wrong? what happened? oh god," he wouldn't know what to do if anything happened to eddie.

"my mom's a fuckin' asshole and i wanna fucking get out. i-i, just, wanna get the fuck out, richie, p-please, i can't take anymore hitting or arguing or screaming," he's a sobbing mess, and the bathroom floor is cold, but he suddenly envisions hugging richie, collapsing into his arms, and his heart flutters, and for a split second he feels comforted. 

"wait, hitting? eddie, what's going on? c'mon," he says, worry as clear as crystal in his voice. eddie can hear the tv outside. if he hears that goddamn tv again, he'll throw up. he throws his digital clock at the door. "SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he screams at the door, his voice hoarse now. he's tired. he's so fucking tired and his pillows soaked and he hates it and hates this and wants richie. he wants richie so fucking bad.

"eddie?"

"fuck, sorry – i just can't deal with her anymore richie, please," 

richie doesn't understand what eddie means by please, but he doesn't question it, and asks eddie for his location. as eddie goes in to send it, his mom walks in with a face so evil you'd mistake it for the devil. 

he gets his things taken away.

—

eddie is a sobbing mess and hasn't stopped crying all day, and he feels like a dumb fucking idiot and it's too hot in here and he's sweating through his shirt and the air is too thick. the clouds have betrayed him. 

eddie is silent. he's never silent. he always had something to say. but now, with no one to say it to, he has run out of words. his throat feels sore. the inner part of his knee and wrists feel sensitive and he presses down hard against his veins and nearly screams. he wants richie. he wants to be free. he wants to leave. he can't leave.

so he sits in the corner of his bathroom, hugging his knees. he's not crying. he's empty. 

he wants his phone. he wants to hear richie. so, he gets up. he's fine, he thinks to himself, _you're fine_. he's fine. he isn't fine. he's far from it.

he leaves his room. his mom's rooms locked. he tries again. no luck. he won't accept it. his body is so weak but he does it for richie. he uses more force, and kicks the side of the door where the lock is mounted. it's too loud. his ears hurt. he hates this. the door breaks, a hole small enough for his arm to go through and unlock the door from the inside. he unlocks it. he scratches his arm.

his mom's in there, sleeping, but now she's up and she has never been so angry and eddie's never been so scared but he doesn't give a fuck and grabs his phone from his drawer and runs so fast to his room. his mom was walking behind him, yelling, but eddie is already crying and he can't focus on the words she's saying. he goes in his room, and slams it shut. he owns no key. the sun must've hidden it. he's too weak to move his dresser to block the door. he goes in his bathroom and locks it. he doesn't care.

richie. richie. richie. he calls richie, no answer. it's 4am. he's going to break down again if he doesn't hear richie's voice.

he doesn't end up hearing it that night. 

—

he wakes up to a soar throat and his body aching from sleeping against a tiled floor and he instantly grabs his phone. it's 9am. 15 missed calls from richie. way too many messages for him to count. he reads them all, one by one. he decides to text him instead of calling. his voice isn't there, it's lost. the sun has taken it.

richie

**eddie holy fuck**

**where are you? are you okay?**

eddie

**home, where else would i be**

**and define okay**

richie

**safe, are you safe?**

eddie

**idk**

**yes**

**maybe?**

richie

**what does that mean.**

**eddie answer my calls**

eddie

**my voice is gone**

richie

**oh**

eddie

**sorry about last night**

**shit got taken away from me again**

richie

**don't be sorry, ever**

**you did nothing wrong eds**

eddie

**i have**

richie

**you haven't**

eddie

**how do you know**

richie

**because i do**

eddie

**come get me**

**please**

richie

**i will**

eddie

**you will?**

richie

**i will**

—

the night after that, 11:30pm to be exact, richie was parked near eddie's house. the sun was so close to swallowing him whole but he made it through the day and now the clouds cover the sky and he feels so much safer. maybe it's richie. he doesn't know. 

he leaves the house through his window, but doesn't scrape his knees this time. he put his dresser in front of his bedroom door to barricade the entrance. he doesn't glance back at the room. he gathers things he loves the most, and hates the most. a picture of his mom. only to burn. only to destroy. he doesn't end up doing that. he just throws it away.

he sees richie's car, and walks to it, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. he hopes that seeing richie will be better than this cloudy sky.

it is.

stepping into the passenger seat, eddie was the first to speak.

"get me the fuck out of here."

—

thirty nights after that, he's cuddled up and clinging onto richie, wearing boxers and one of richie's shirts as they watch some stupid netflix movie. eddie's not paying attention, and richie knows that. he likes to see eddie's puzzled face. richie imagines that eddie's head is filled with ten incoming thoughts per second, but eddie's mind, for the past month, has been zeroing in on one thing. richie tozier. eddie's been focusing on the things he couldn't see through a laptop screen. he carefully listens to richie's breathing, and tries to synchronize with it. it's slower than what eddie's used to. richie's got dirt under his nails, almost always. he sometimes smells of smoke. his skin is softer than anyone would guess. he always towers over everyone, but it's never intimidating. 

eddie has never felt safer. 


End file.
